Christmas at Bravo Ridge

“Are we going home now?”

Corrine let her slide to the floor. “Yes, we are.” She flashed a falsely bright smile in Matt’s direction. “Thanks a bunch.”

He looked back at her steadily. “I’ll call you.”

“Unnecessary. Really. Kira, honey. Get your pack and your coat.” Kira skipped off toward the living room, leaving her alone with him again. “Hurry now!” She called.

Matt said, “Where’s your engagement ring?”

Corrine resisted the urge to whip her hand out of sight. “I gave it back.”

He looked kind of stricken. She took more satisfaction than she should have from that. Before he could come up with anything else to say, Kira bounced back in, her Ariel pack sliding down one arm and her white quilted coat with the pink fake-fur accents dragging the floor.

“Put on that coat,” Matt said gruffly.

Kira dimpled up at him as she dropped the pack and stuck her arms in the sleeves. “I am, Daddy.” Corrine bent to zip her up, but Kira pushed her hands away. “Mommy. I can do it myself.”

“Well, all right.” Corrine stood back and made herself wait as Kira’s inexperienced little fingers fiddled with the zipper base, trying to get the tab into the placket. She purposely kept herself from glancing Matt’s way for fear of the look she would see on his face.

A guilty look. A damn-it-Corrie-I’m-so-sorry look.

“See.” Kira zipped up and held her arms wide. “I did it myself.”

“Good job. Let’s go.”

“’Kay. Bye, Daddy.” She reached up her arms. He knelt and she hugged him and planted a big smacker right on his cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, sweetheart.”

And at last, Corrine turned and opened the door again. Kira slid around her and raced for the car, backpack bobbing.

At home, there was bath time and story time and then Corrine tucked her daughter in, kissed her cheek and turned off the light as she left the room.

She’d barely made it downstairs when the phone started ringing. A glance at the display told her what she already knew: Matt. She let the machine get it.

“Come on, Corrie. Pick up…I know you’re there and you know you need a friend to talk to. Corrie. Damn it. Corrie, come on.”

Corrine left the kitchen as he hung up. The dial tone buzzed briefly before the machine clicked itself off. She went to the living room, turned on the fire and grabbed the remote.

Half an hour later, as she was watching a That ’70s Show rerun and slowly drifting off to sleep, the doorbell rang. She sat up, grabbed the remote and punched the off button.

What was the matter with that man? Hadn’t she made it crystal clear that she didn’t want to talk about it, especially not with him?

She got up and stomped to the door in her stocking feet. As she disengaged the security lock and yanked it wide, she opened her mouth to tell him in no uncertain terms that she really, truly did not want to talk about it and would he please just go home.

But it wasn’t Matt after all.

Corrine snapped her mouth shut without uttering a single word.

Aleta Bravo stood on her front step, wearing a silver-gray cashmere coat over what appeared to be a lacy black negligee. She had black satin bedroom slippers on her feet, a designer bag over one arm. And a suitcase flanking her on either side.

“I’m so sorry, Corrine. I didn’t know where else to go.”

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